


So tight I'd bruise you

by elviehun



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geraskier, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, No beta we break down like lutes, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Sorry I say Fuck a lot, Toss a coin to your newbie, double pov, idek, sense of smell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elviehun/pseuds/elviehun
Summary: Geralt is a hungry beast.Jaskier is a hungry man.They both have been starving for far too long.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	So tight I'd bruise you

**Author's Note:**

> Guys,
> 
> This is my first finished fic in this fandom and also on here, and my second ever in English, so please be gentle:). I don't really know what I'm doing just yet. I would be SO glad if you could leave some feedback:).
> 
> An outcome of wine taken with TAD, and a lot of it.
> 
> Forgive me, Joey just makes me write. Far too many of his lines make far too perfect fic titles, right?
> 
> I also tend to tuck annoying little easter eggs of what I hold dear into folds of my fics. Sorry.
> 
> I based it on the show, and, You might feel this is set loosely after Ep.6. You might be right, though I didn't strictly timeline it.
> 
> I tried my best to veer this away from my usual weird style, but it's sometimes stronger a tide. Also, wine.
> 
> Title borrowed from the insanely gorgeous The Amazing Devil of course.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!

Three years. One thousand and thirty-one days and only twenty-six monsters to kill

-time

He's been gone for three years almost.

They did not exactly part  
on the best terms.

Geralt's doing fine, he wakes up and packs and gobbles up the remains of supper from the night before and takes a piss and rides until Roach gets tired, sniffing around in the occasional settlement for any offers. Since those are rare nowadays, he mostly hunts. He washes in creeks since the weather's warming, and not every time does he eat the catch raw. Sometimes he can gather the will to bother with roasting it first.

It's all right, all in all, practical and predictable, even if not too purposeful.

He had been dreaming of peace after all.

He's managing.

He has run into acquaintances two times this far.

He had not asked about him.

He had NOT asked about him. 

He did not stare into the cooling ashes for two and a half hours the first time and three the second.

He said  
he's managing.

Another day.

Then another.

He goes on.

If only he could ever feel tired enough to sleep.

*

He wandered into the woods completely aimlessly.

Just so.

Not because he could feel him for days.  
Smell him for days. How could he smell him? That's bullshit. Phantom smells. He shouldn't be able to smell him from even as close as five feet. Nonsense. That's not some soft cracked worn leather. Not waxy animal fur-like warm hair. Definitely not salty woodsmoky pungent Witcher's sweat.

He runs a hand through his hair. He has more grey hairs now. What would he say-

Around this humongous burnt-out oak

or sycamore or whatever the fuck that is it was always him who knew all the trees by heart

One step

One

step

more

breathe

-Geralt?

HUNGER.

FAMINE.

A FEAST of white raggedy hair and leather-covered shoulders and grubby palms wiped on thighs and

GERALT GERALT GERALT'S SMELL.

FUCK.

*

He camped by the burnt-out sycamore completely aimlessly.  
Just so.

Plenty of new spring dandelions for Roach to enjoy and a quiet creek at an arm's length.

Not because he could feel him for days

SMELL him for days

Waxy animal fur-like human hair and

sweet polleny new hay

and beeswax scented nape  
of a warm neck

Right behind

Turns

slowly

around

and

FUCK

air escapes his lungs as if he was punched in the guts but

otherwise

he's fine

The bard has aged a bit, grew some grey strands

His hair goes down under his chin now

Bracketing the soft shadow of a beard

Fine new lines

around the eyes

that could smile the godDAMN SUN

blind in the sky

and

his

MOUTH.

Geralt is

ravenous.

-Jaskier.

-Hello again.

For Gods' sake just

Say something

Say 

The bard slowly slides

his lute

down on the forest floor

*

It didn't take long.

How could it have? It's been three years.

He's not DEVOURING him

No

He's

just

kissing him-

has he been

missing him?-

kissing him

kissing him

How could he not-

Mouth capturing tongue sucking bruises on lips his eyes wet patches of flax petals hisses of laboured breath he tastes of sweet aged golden wine and oak casks and torture for

FUCK's sake MORE

He's pressing him down and he's pressing right back, shoving his hips upwards in frantic

snapping

jerking movements

and swearing sobbing

beautiful filth  
(gods what plenty)  
tumbling from his lips

completely out  
of control and Geralt-

Stop, Jaskier, I'll bruise you!

Well shit, I could bruise you too, Jaskier says, puppydog-sullenly and oh how FUCKING much Geralt loves him, the snub-nosed little fuck. He could crush him

to dust

Teeth grit

That crooked upper lip

So unbearably

Senselessly

Soft

He could suck on it

until they both are sore

Does he even know...?

He's so wrecked, he's flaking off all his paint. But he just

presses him

into the treetrunk deeper

and deeper

and Jaskier LAUGHS,

in that ungodly

unholy tone

his face is wet

and every sad old dried up cell

in Geralt's body is

SINGING  
and roaring and

all he can do is pant

How could I ever

How could I breathe

Not having this?!

Not being able to-

What are you doing to me, he hisses between clenched teeth

Fuck, he moans, Geralt, when did you not

OWN me? I'm

Claimed.

Ever.

Since.

Posada you bastard.

You' ve marked me with that first

Fucking annoyed look

That grunt

I'm

lost

Do as you wish to me I want-

RIP IT OFF BARD I want to

see

Geralt, I...

He

just

throbs

Just fucking throbs

How could he not-

*

Sleep comes

Finally

Sweet and sinful

And when he wakes

a lute's playing

softly

as a reversed lullaby

right next to him.


End file.
